


Little Lotte, Let Her Mind Wander...

by KChan88



Series: She Was Bound to Love You [2]
Category: Le Fantôme de l'Opéra | Phantom of the Opera - Gaston Leroux, Phantom of the Opera - Lloyd Webber
Genre: Bisexual!Christine, F/F, Girl!Raoul, Lesbian!Raoul, Rule 63
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-02-12
Updated: 2020-02-12
Packaged: 2021-02-19 07:10:07
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,828
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/22673860
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KChan88/pseuds/KChan88
Summary: What if Raoul de Chagny was a woman?A series featuring the major events (and a few things in-between) from the Phantom of the Opera, with a gender-bent, lesbian Raoul (and a bisexual Christine). ALW based, with Leroux elements.Scene 2: Raoul and Christine meet again, and Christine ponders her feelings for her old friend. Erik comes through the mirror.(Or, Raoul is cute, Christine has a bisexual crisis, and Erik is jealous and doesn't know why)
Relationships: Raoul de Chagny/Christine Daaé
Series: She Was Bound to Love You [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1627735
Comments: 11
Kudos: 38





	Little Lotte, Let Her Mind Wander...

Christine holds the note Madame Giry brought in her hand, the euphoria of her triumph still buzzing up and down her skin with a strange, vibrant energy. Joy, for certain, but something else too, something like the tiniest bit of fear. What would her Angel think? He would be proud, she hopes. He is, if the faint _brava_ she heard in the chapel was any indication, but she can never entirely tell.

It’s difficult, when your teacher is just a voice in the shadows, to _know_ anything. When your teacher is a ghost or a man or a spirit or…some combination of all three.

For now she listens to the happy chatter outside her door, and unfolds the missive in her hand. 

_A red scarf. The attic. Little Lotte._

The note opens floodgates in Christine’s mind. Laughter. Childish stories whispered in the dark. The sound of a violin.

This can’t be from anyone but Raoul de Chagny. She heard chatters around the opera house earlier about _de Chagny_ , but she assumed Raoul’s older brother would be here, and not Raoul herself.

There’s a knock at the door, and the door opens without her answer. It’s not entirely strange, she supposes, in the chaos of the opera house, but it _is_ a bit impudent. 

“Christine Daae where is your red scarf?” 

A woman steps inside, and is that... 

“You can’t have lost it,” the woman continues with a laugh on her breath, and that voice _is_ familiar, just older. “I was soaked to the skin, and went to so much trouble!”

Christine stares, and then her face breaks out into a wide, aching smile. “Oh Raoul, it is you! Madame Giry brought your note and I thought it too good to be true!” 

Raoul laughs, leaning down and pressing a warm kiss to Christine’s cheek, looking a little shy when she pulls back. 

She holds out a single red rose, bowing before offering it out to Christine. “For you, mademoiselle. I wish I had a full bouquet, you’ll have to forgive me for it.”

Christine well and truly _giggles_ , taking the flower with glee. “How terribly gallant of you, Raoul, you’re too sweet, truly.” 

Christine takes both of Raoul’s hands, pleased beyond expression to see her old friend again. She’s taller now, her angular face framed by dark blonde hair kept back in a long braid, those blue eyes sparkling with a little mischief. She’s lovely, for certain. The sandy, golden color of Raoul’s hair sends Christine back to the shore in Brittany. To something that might have been _almost_ a kiss. Maybe. When they were fourteen edging toward fifteen, seeing each other again for the first time in a few years after they met as little children. She might have imagined that part **.** The almost kiss, that is. Warmth floods Christine’s cheeks and she pushes it away because she’s not certain what that warmth is. Glee at seeing an old friend, her oldest friend at all, who she’s missed so much. She studies Raoul’s clothes instead of her face, the long dark blue skirt paired with a man’s white shirt and a navy waistcoat threaded through with gold, a satin lined evening coat topping everything off. It’s not usually what women wear, but it suits her, somehow.

“Christine,” Raoul says softly, kneeling down next to the vanity chair and keeping hold of Christine’s hands. “I’ve been bursting to see you since I set foot in the door and heard you were here, not to mention the star of the night! I’ve not accomplished anything so wonderful.” 

“Oh, please.” Christine tugs one of Raoul’s hands closer, and there’s something in Raoul’s eyes, a gleam that Christine can’t quite read, she only knows it makes her heart beat faster. “I’m sure you have.” 

Raoul presses a kiss to Christine’s knuckles. “I assure you I have not. I frustrate my sisters for my lack of marriage and follow my older brother about, listening to him sigh fondly over my dreamy-headedness. I entertain my nieces and nephews, at least. And I read a great deal. But you! I’m so pleased to see you center stage. Your father would be ecstatic, I know. I’m so glad I convinced Philippe into this patronage, or I might have had to wait in line behind all your other admirers that will surely be there in the morning, once I heard my old friend was the love of all Paris.”

Christine blushes. “Stop it, you were always too kind to me, Raoul.”

Raoul frowns, shaking her head. “I could never be too kind to you, Christine Daae. You deserve every kindness. I never did forget those stories your father used to tell us. Little Lotte, and all of that. I know you must miss him. Every time I pick up my violin, I hear his voice. Though of course, I am no prodigy.”

Christine smiles, feeling safe and afraid, all at once. Raoul is warm and bright but there are shadows lurking, a voice she can’t push away. The voice of that strange angel who brought her music to life.

She decides she’ll trust her old friend with something.

“Do you remember when my father would speak of the Angel of Music, Raoul?” 

Raoul grins outright. “Of course.” 

“Well...” Christine lowers her voice and Raoul leans in closer, like they might be back in the attic telling stories in the dead of night. “He _did_ send the Angel of Music to me.” 

Raoul’s grin falters, just a little, like she’s making sense of what Christine is saying, but can’t quite get there. She straightens it out after a moment, rising up from the floor. 

“I have no doubt of it!” she exclaims, looking playful again. “But now I think we should go to supper. I’m dying to catch up.” 

“Oh.” Christine’s stomach drops. She wants to say yes, she’s _desperate_ to say yes, but she can’t “I’m afraid I can’t. The Angel of Music is very strict.” 

But Raoul’s already by the door, and she’s laughing again. “Nonsense, Christine, you have just achieved a great success! I think it’s all right if you rest your voice, tonight, and I promise I won’t keep you out late. You get changed, and I’ll go tell Philippe where I’m off to.” 

“Raoul!” Christine calls out for her, but Raoul’s closing the door with a _see you in a bit, Little Lotte_ on her breath, apparently not hearing her.

She could go.

She can’t. She can’t go. Her Angel would be angry.

She picks up the rose again, walking over to the tall dressing room mirror and holding the flower up to her nose. She remembers the sea and the shore once more, she remembers her own adolescent laughter as Raoul’s face grew closer to her own before pulling away again, an _almost_ in the air. She kept the memories of Raoul but put that one away, because she didn’t know what to do with it. She’s not opposed in the slightest to two women sharing that sort of relationship with each other, in fact she’s sure two girls in the ballet corps are secretly in love, but she…it isn’t an easy path, opening yourself up to ridicule. And she’s fancied a chorus boy or two before, so that must mean…

She loves Raoul but...not like that. 

Right? Of course she’s right. She’s just caught up in the feelings of seeing Raoul again, after so long. Raoul, who knew her father. Raoul, who knew her. She spins around in the mirror, smelling the rose once more before placing it on her armoire with care. 

_If that’s true, then why are you still blushing?_

When the candles go out of their own accord, Christine jumps out of her skin. 

“Insolent girl!” that deep, familiar voice shouts, full of more rage than Christine’s ever heard from an angel before. Well, from this angel, given she hasn’t experience with any others. “Thinking she might tell you what to do! That she might put a silly supper over your talents and over me. Who is she, Christine?” 

Christine puts one hand over her chest, willing her heart to still. “Forgive me, Angel, Raoul is an old friend, and she was only excited to see me, and I her. She and her brother are the new patrons of the opera house. Raoul de Chagny, is her name. And her brother Philippe.”

“That girl wants something from you.” Her Angel’s voice sounds almost bewildered now, like he’s trying to sort something out. “You’re to stay away from her. You have friends enough in ballet corps, with Meg Giry.” 

“Pardon me for arguing, Angel,” Christine says. “But there’s nothing for her to want of me, other than my friendship. I don’t have money or power or anything like that.” 

“I thought I heard the name _de Chagny_ bandied about backstage.” The Angel sounds disgruntled, and more human than usual. “I think you’ll find wealthy people can want a great from anyone, Christine.” 

“Raoul was a dear friend of mine, growing up.” Christine sounds petulant and she knows it, but she doesn’t like being told she can’t see Raoul, even if it frightens her to push back against her Angel. She doesn’t want to scare him away, not if he really was sent by her father, not after what he’s done for her. “It was good to see her again.”

It’s strange to care for and be so afraid of someone, all at once.

“She was sharing in _my_ triumph,” he continues, something like jealousy dripping off his voice. “And you want more nights like these, don’t you? Finally you were center stage.”

“Yes, Angel.” Heat floods Christine’s cheeks. Shame that pushes away the irritation she feels because her Angel has done a great deal for her, and she needs to be grateful. “I’m very sorry.” 

There’s a pause, and Christine’s heart beats faster. 

“Flattering child...” Her Angel’s voice goes silky smooth and an odd blankness starts taking over Christine’s mind, like she might be outside herself. “You will meet me, tonight. Look in the mirror.” 

Christine does. She thinks she hears a voice calling to her from the other side of the door. A feminine voice. The door shakes, like someone’s trying to unlock it. 

Is she imagining it? 

_Christine! I hear a man in there with you, are you all right?_

A frantic voice. 

Raoul’s voice. 

But her Angel is singing, and it drowns out everything. Raoul’s voice. The sounds in the hallway. The thoughts inside her own mind. Something in her reaches back for the flower on her armoire, but then her Angel’s voice comes again, luring her forward, and the rose falls to the floor of the dressing room. 

_Come to me, Angel of Music._

Her Angel. The Phantom. He repeats those words over and over again until she can’t hear Raoul calling out to her anymore, and she loses herself, entirely. 


End file.
